


if i'm a little more complete, it's all because of you

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet Collection, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, basically canon timeline happens but they survive bc they deserve happy endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: Sometimes, when Noctis looks too closely at Prompto, or when Prompto wakes up to Noctis sprawled all over him, it makes the chest ache.Ah, but maybe that's what it means to love. To feel alive.[non-linear collection of ficlets inspired by certainsensory prompts]





	1. violet bruised eyes

**Author's Note:**

> yes hi this is milktea back at it again with yet another promptis collection...... but this one will be more focused on /writing/, whatever that means, and there will be significantly less fluff than my other collection bUT i'm hoping there will be just as much sweet, tender promptis lovin'.  
> as u can see, i've already tagged "canon-divergent" up there so y'all know what means,, canon ffxv end? idk her.....,
> 
> title from crowd lu's [you complete me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQ_mU73VhEQ) which never fails to make me cry and then i thought about [the lyrics](https://twitter.com/puddingcatbae/status/1016186466559356928) in relation to promptis and now i'm fcking sobbing on the floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in-game, post-insomnia falls

 

He finds Prompto sitting on the roof again, his legs dangling off the side as he stares into the distance. There’s a hollowness in his expression that almost hurts to see.

Noctis lowers himself, gingerly shifting his knee, next to his friend. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey, yourself,” Prompto says back.

“So, is this where we’re going to have our heart-to-hearts from now on?”

“I don’t know, the view’s quite nice, don’t you think?”

“You can see shit all this time of night.”

Prompto laughs. The sound is too low, and it trails off too soon. “You’re right. This roof is too low and the motel’s the only light around here for miles. Sucks.”

“Kind of miss the skyscrapers back home, huh.”

“The city lights, too. Always felt too restless at night, but now...”

“Too quiet out here.”

“Yeah,” says Prompto. His eyes are staring out into the dark again, his fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. “Sometimes you can hear the daemons, but mostly it’s just quiet. Everybody’s asleep once the sun goes down. Safer, I guess. But the quiet just makes your thoughts too loud, you know? Hard to sleep. Ha.”

“What?”

Prompto’s lips curl up in a humourless smile. “Funny how I have insomnia now that we’re out of Insomnia. Forever, now, I guess.”

Noctis watches his best friend’s profile. There are the familiar freckles, the long pale eyelashes, that sharp jawline. His bangs have grown a little too long, falling over his forehead after the hair gel relents its grip after a full day’s work. And there, under his stormy blue eyes, are twin bruises, stained violet, heavy with sleeplessness.

Without really meaning to, Noctis finds himself reaching out, hesitant fingers hovering by Prompto’s face. Prompto turns, blinking at him curiously. His mouth is turned down, a weary frown, something the Prompto he knows would never dare allow others to see. But this Prompto, Noctis is first witness to all the changes that Prompto is suffering through, that Prompto is growing into.

Noctis hates that he’s part of the reason Prompto is forced to change like this, but Noctis is too selfish to let Prompto go. He needs his best friend. He needs Prompto.

He just wishes he was able to offer Prompto the comfort that Prompto provides him so effortlessly, so readily.

His thumb brushes along the bags under Prompto’s eyes. Prompto doesn’t flinch, but he tenses under Noctis’ touch. They both freeze there, eyes wide.

“Noct...?” Prompto whispers.

“Does this hurt?”

“No, but—what are you doing?”

Noctis goes to drop his hand, but Prompto catches it. He stares down at their joined hands, but Prompto’s still watching him. He lifts his head and meets that tired gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Prompto shakes his head. “Don’t be, it’s—None of this is your fault, Noct.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Prompto’s fingers squeezes his. “I-I know that.”

Noctis leans forwards and lets his head fall onto Prompto’s shoulder. He feels the other boy shift to accommodate his weight. For a moment, they just sit and breathe together.

“I know this won’t fix anything,” he says, “but will you come back to bed with me?”

Prompto sighs. “Yeah. But can we... stay likes this? For a bit.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

Noctis tugs his fingers out of Prompto’s grasp so he can weave their fingers together. He ignores the night time chill, pretends that the goosebumps on his arms have nothing to do with the claws of fear sinking in his chest as the days drag on by. He doesn’t think about tomorrow, or the weight of the world on his shoulders, or the new scars marking each of his friends’ skin. He closes his eyes and listens to the steady rhythm of Prompto’s breathing.

All he can do is hope that they can find some solace in their dreams tonight.

 

 


	2. indigo skies just before dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-game, canon-divergence bc fuck that noise about death and needless sacrifice

The sky is bleeding.

Or maybe that’s just the blood in Prompto’s eyes, but it’s the same. There’s something wrong with his leg, his old shoulder injury is torn open again, and he can barely see straight. His chest feels like an open wound, but he knows that’s only a feeling.

It’s the worst feeling.

Because the sky—the _night_ , the endless dark, the inky depths that has been their nightmarish hell for the past decade—is finally lifting. There is colour again. The broken cityscape around them falls into a hush. The last of the daemons seem to stumble and shiver in place.

Prompto drops to his knees, and prays.

 

 

 

He hasn’t seen stars for a long, long time. One of the many things that the dark has stolen from him. He never used to be afraid of the night.

Prompto can remember restless nights, back when he was all of sixteen and thinking himself ready to take on the world, sneaking out of Noct’s apartment and hitting up all the best twenty-four-hour diners in the neighbourhood. He can remember citylights, long exposure headlights from the bridge, blurred lines and electric kisses. He can remember huddling for warmth on a rooftop somewhere, a lifetime ago, squinting to spot the barest hint of stars in the sky beyond the Wall.

Prompto can remember good nights. Safe nights.

But only just barely.

 

 

 

Ignis is calling his name from somewhere behind him. Near the Citadel steps, maybe. Gladio is breathing heavily closeby. But all Prompto can do is stare up at the sky, keep his unsteady gaze on the horizon.

The black fades to a deep indigo, and something in Prompto’s fragile ribcage shifts, shatters.

It is the colour of Noct’s eyes.

Beyond what’s left of the crumbled Insomnian Wall, something starts to glow.

“No,” gasps Prompto, twisting away. He staggers up the uneven steps, falling down too hard, too many times. Gladio’s beside him now, large hands—calloused, scarred, battle-worn but warm and _alive_ —struggling to hold him up. Ignis is a ways ahead of them, asking for someone, anyone, to answer him.

“I can’t do this,” Prompto says, and there are tears mixing in with the blood on his face. “Please,” he says, voice cracking, “please, I—Noct, I can’t—”

“Okay,” Gladio is saying, and he has an arm around Prompto’s waist now, “it’s okay, we’ll go together—”

There’s a presence on his other side. Ignis. Prompto grips his offered hand tight enough to bruise. Neither of them comment on it. Together, bone-weary and hunched over, the three of them make their way up the stairs and into the Citadel.

It takes far too long to reach the throne room. Prompto spots him first, and he lets out a helpless whimper. Gladio swallows back a sob as his arm loosens around Prompto, allowing him to stumble forwards, onwards, towards their King. In a hoarse voice, he’s telling Ignis about Noctis.

And Noctis is there. Sitting on his throne. Half the room is demolished completely, the walls caved in, the floor littered with debris from the ceiling and the windows. Most of the windows are gone, turned into a natural skylight. But still Noctis sits, so still, so still.

Prompto somehow makes it up the steps again. His hands are shaking so badly. He reaches towards Noct’s face, pale and looking so peaceful Prompto’s chest aches. His hand hesitates, hovering over the sword impaled through Noctis’ chest.

But just as he touches the handle, he hears: the snap of a string, the crack of a crystal. And right before his very eyes, the ancient sword bursts into millions of lightning blue, fading away like ghosts in the dead of night.

“Noct?” he whispers.

A heartbeat. Another. Then, without any fanfare or warning or previously thought possibility, Noctis opens his eyes.

Prompto watches the sun rise through the reflection in midnight blue eyes, and if his laughter turns into uncontrollable, chest-heaving sobs halfway through, nobody comments on it.

(After all, every single one of them are crying just as hard. But that’s alright; the sun will rise again, and again, and again.)

 

 


	3. fingertips smudged in blue ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-game, everybody lives/nobody dies tag is my new home

Prompto’s hands are many things. They’re quick, sure and steady on familiar machinery and sleek guns that are more like an extension to his body rather than a weapon of mass destruction. They’re nervous, always fiddling with the string on his pants, whatever spare parts he has hidden in his pockets. They’re pale and calloused and strong and so, so gentle.

Noctis thinks about Prompto’s hands a lot.

 

 

 

He wakes up on the couch shoved into the corner of his makeshift office. It’s an old thing, worn leather and faded colour, but it’s sturdy and it does the job. This place is meant to be temporary anyway, until they figure out how to really physically rebuild Insomnia into a home again.

There’s a tiny click, and then papers shuffling. Turning his head, Noctis sees a familiar blond head bent down over his desk.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and watches as Prompto startles and bangs his knees under the desk.

“Noct! How was your nap?”

Noctis stretches his arms, wincing when he feels the crick in his neck. Ignis is going to scold him again. But this is nothing he can’t handle. He’s survived way worse.

“Not as good,” he says. He sends Prompto a lazy smirk. “Would’ve been better if you joined me.”

And Prompto, all of thirty, battle-hardened and hero-worthy, still blushes like they were dumb teenagers falling in love for the first time. Noctis sits up slowly, basking in the comfortable silence.

“So,” he says, “are you doing my paperwork for me?”

“You wish.” Prompto straightens the stack of papers on the desk. “I was reading up on the hunters’ reports.”

“Oh, how are the supply runs going?”

Prompto smiles, a quick and bright thing. That hasn’t changed, even if the shape of his face has, a little, even if his body is littered with scars Noctis wasn’t there to bear witness to. “It’s going great, actually! Much faster than we expected, too, since they can move at night now. And that’s not even the best part.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! There’s been more and more reports of them finding survivors out there, hiding out in abandoned towns or holed up in homemade shelters—Noct, there are entire villages that have been getting by by themselves all this time. Families, children... It really tells you how tough Lucians are.”

Noctis smiles at him, meeting his eyes and allowing all the fondness and warmth to show on his face. “I already know that.”

The look Prompto gives him is so full of emotion, Noctis feels his breath catch. He manages to hold the gaze for another heartbeat before he has to look away. He glances down towards Prompto’s hands, and pauses.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” Prompto blinks in confusion but Noctis is already making his way over. 

He stands in front of the desk and reaches for Prompto’s hands. Lifting them, he peers at the blue smudges along Prompto’s fingertips. The dark blue almost seems to glow on Prompto’s skin, and Noctis has a sudden urge to lean in and lick them. He settles for brushing his thumb along the coloured digits.

“Oh,” Prompto says. “I fixed the pen you broke.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know. But I like fixing things.”

Noctis squeezes his fingers. “Well, you do look hot fixing things, so I’m not complaining.”

“Noooct.”

Unable to hold back his grin, Noctis tugs on Prompto’s hands until he gets the hint. They lean towards each other with practised ease, lips pressing together in a chaste kiss. It’s small and quick, but it brings a warmth that settles deep in Noctis’ belly. He maintains his hold on Prompto’s hands.

“I should probably go wash off the ink,” Prompto says. He makes no move to extract his hands from Noctis.

“Maybe later,” says Noctis. “I think this colour suits you.”

“Yeah? Maybe I should ask Iris for some nail polish.”

“But you’ll just chew it right off.”

“Not if you’re here to hold my hand.”

The wicked sharp smile that Prompto flashes him makes Noctis want to kiss him again. So he does, and he smiles against Prompto’s cheek when Prompto laughs.

 

 

 

Prompto’s hands are many things. They’re long and scarred and often stained from whatever latest project he’s working on. They’re flighty and almost always too cold. But they are the perfect shape for Noctis’ own hands to hold.

Noctis really likes Prompto’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know y'all wanna point at this and go "noct has a hand kink" but listen. listen. prompto is all of noct's kinks. sorry i don't make the rules,


	4. green wine bottles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-game; heavier on the angst side, alcohol mention, warnings for past trauma/death mentions/suicide ideation/ptsd, just in case

Some nights, it’s bad. Some nights, the nightmares catches up to Prompto and leave him shaking, shivering, terrified of surrendering to the dark again. Some nights, he hides in the guest room that they’ve decided is a safe zone for no-touch days. 

But some nights, it’s not enough.

Tonight, he’s in the kitchen, hands clenched on the edge of the counter as he tries to steady his breathing. He’s afraid to fill a cup of water in case his hands shake too much and he drops it, or worse, wakes up Noctis. 

He should, probably. Noctis told him that he could. And Prompto had promised him the same for when  _ his  _ nightmares acted up. But the claws of fear and despair are still wrapped too tightly around his ribcage for Prompto to really consider it.

Noctis finds him anyway, sitting on the kitchen tiles in front of the sink, hands wrapped around the bottle of fine wine that Ignis had gifted them when they moved in.

“Hey,” Noctis says, hovering in front of him.

Prompto squints. Noctis is blocking one of the kitchen lights, and his sleep clothes make him look like a shapeless shadow. “Noct?” Prompto says.

Noctis moves. He lowers himself to the ground next to Prompto, stretching out his legs so his knee doesn’t ache too much in the morning. “You okay?”

“Hnngh. A little tipsy.”

“I can see that.”

Prompto lifts the bottle and takes a swig. He holds it out, admiring the way the lights above them reflect off the glass. It’s a pretty green, like the sea in the early mornings. “Want some?”

Noctis sighs. “Yeah, why not?”

They drink in silence for a while. Prompto slides a bit until his head is resting against Noctis’ shoulder. Noctis is warm. Solid. Alive. Prompto curls his fingers around Noctis’ free hand and tries to fix that thought in place inside the whirling mess of his mind.

“Did you dream about—” Noctis is slurring now, and he seems to hesitate a little, though Prompto can’t tell if it’s because he’s regretting the question or if he’s suddenly forgot what words are. “—about  _ him _ ? Or, or—or me. But not the good one with me. The bad one. The one with the—”

“Death? Disappearing?”

Noctis nods. Prompto feels his body move along with the movement. 

“No,” sighs Prompto, closing his eyes to stop the cabinets from spinning. “It was—one of the nights. From the last few years of darkness. I—was reckless, I guess. You know.”

“That’s what Cindy told me, yeah.”

“Yeah. Was real dumb. Didn’t really care, anymore. Iggy and Gladio were too far away, and Cindy was always worried, and everyone was scared, starving, dying—and. Thought you weren’t coming back.”

The bottle nudges at his hand. Prompto grabs it and tilts it up. He swallows, wipes at his mouth. Noctis is watching him with sad, dark eyes. Prompto knows the same expression is mirrored on his own face.

“Sorry,” Noctis says quietly.

Prompto shakes his head. “‘S not your fault.”

“Still sorry. Didn’t—Never. Never wanted you to die for me. Because of me.”

The alcohol doesn’t burn. But there’s a lump in Prompto’s throat anyway. He’s not shaking anymore, and he’s breathing easier. He’s probably drunk, feeling heavy and hazy as he is. But it’s better. Better than before.

“Noct,” he says, voice cracked and small.

The hand in his squeezes. “Yeah,” Noctis says. “Yeah. I’m here. I’m real. You are, too. Real, and alive.”

“Noct,” Prompto says again.

The empty bottle sits by the cabinet in front of them, a dark green in the shadow. Prompto curls into Noctis’ arms, eyes stinging and leaking and hands reaching out blindly, grasping onto Noctis’ shirt and twisting and gripping tight. Noctis holds him close, close enough that a stray worry about bruises flickers across Prompto’s mind, close enough Prompto can count Noctis’ heartbeat against his.

Their heads will throb in the morning and Ignis will be so disappointed, but right now, they hold onto each other as tightly as they can, trying to soothe the permanent ache deep inside their chests. By first light, they’ll piece each other back together. By sunrise, they’ll be alright, or as close to it as they can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neither of them really know how to cope with things but to be honest, idk either. shit's hard, life isn't always smooth riding. but we're all trying our best. and that's really something, don't you think?


	5. yellow halogen lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pre-game / brotherhood era, first year after high school
> 
> everyone said either "streetlights" or "headlights" when i asked so i did a bit of both

It’s started to pour outside.

Prompto watches the rain through the dirty window of the diner. The sun went down a couple hours ago, and most people have hurried home as soon as the rain began to fall. He can just barely make out the direction of the rain from the blurry glow of the streetlamps across the street.

Through the window, he can see the reflection of the boy slouched in the booth across from him. Noctis has his elbows on the table, his head resting in his palms. His hair curls up slightly where it’s drying from the rain. He looks half-asleep.

Prompto doesn’t blame him. He’s also feeling dead tired and he’s not the one juggling a university course load  _ and  _ new, heavier princely duties. The poor weather doesn’t help either.

“Earth to Noctis,” he says, nudging his friend with his knee. “You sure you don’t wanna call Iggy for a ride home?”

“Nah. I’ll just wait it out.”

“You sure that’s not just an excuse to avoid all the paperwork he wants you to read?”

“Shut up,” says Noctis. He covers a yawn with his hand. Then he smiles that crooked smile of his, across the table and straight into Prompto’s heart. “It’s an excuse to spend more time with you.”

And it’s true, they haven’t seen each other much lately. University is different from high school, and both of them are struggling to adjust. Their schedules don’t really match up, their classes often on opposite sides of campus. Noctis is busy with royal stuff and Prompto has his part time job and Crownsguard training. They text constantly and have video calls most nights before they fall asleep, but it’s not the same.

“Noct,” Prompto starts, but the waitress comes over just then to refill their coffee. 

Silence falls between them again, comfortable, without pressure. Prompto watches Noctis watch the world outside the window. A car drives by, its headlights weaving through the dark. Prompto blinks away the fuzziness. Time seems to be drifting slowly, out of touch with reality. The diner is near empty, the remaining patrons slumped over in their booths as they wait out the rain. The day’s events feels a lifetime away. Prompto keeps his eyes on Noctis.

Under the golden glow of the diner lowlights, Noctis’ sharp edges are made gentle, his shadows smoothed over, his broodiness brushed into thoughtfulness. He looks warm. He looks soft, like a worn sweater that Prompto could just crawl into and fall asleep in. He looks like home.

Prompto places his hand on the table, palms up and arm stretched out in front of him. “Noct,” he says quietly.

Noctis casts one glance down at his hand and wordlessly places his own on top of it. Their fingers curl together naturally, sliding into place like a key into a lock. Prompto slowly releases the breath that he feels like he’s been holding this entire three months without noticing. 

“Hey,” Noctis says.

“Hey, yourself,” Prompto says back.

They share a smile that spells out relief more than anything else. This is familiar. This is right. 

“I missed you,” Prompto confesses.

“Me, too,” says Noctis. “I missed us.”

Prompto swallows the sudden lump in his throat. Their coffee is going cold. He stares out into the rain, listening to the muted jazz playing from the jukebox in the corner. The pale circle of the streetlamps almost look like they’re swaying in the wind. They look lonely, but Prompto thinks they’re resilient. The yellow glow never wavers. It just sits there, in the distance, as if reminding him,  _ Carry on. Carry on. We’ll still be here, like the stars watching over you from above. You’re going to be alright, we believe in you. _

“Hey, Noct,” Prompto says. He keeps his gaze on the blurry light across the street. “We’re going to be okay, right?”

Noctis squeezes his hand, and Prompto knows they’re going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few lines here are a shoutout to [大人中](https://youtu.be/Q0W--O7aWBg) by crowd lu, a song about learning the loneliness that comes with growing up and becoming an adult, but also the hope and steady determination of carrying on. you're going to be alright, because your loved ones live in your heart and you carry them with you always - so you're not so lonely, not really!!


	6. orange sunsets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in-game, dialing back on the angst this time

 

They decided to set up camp early today. They’ve finished the hunts they’ve gathered and covered a great deal of distance. None of them are grievously injured, and their stock of curatives are almost untouched. Ignis has enough ingredients for something meat-based with minimal vegetables. Today’s a good day.

Noctis drops the last chair by the campfire and rolls his shoulders. Ignis is busy by his cooking station, and Gladio has settled down to do maintenance on his weapons. He glances around, searching for the last member of their party, and finds Prompto at the edge of the Haven.

“What are you doing?” Noctis asks, wandering over to stand beside him.

Prompto fiddles with the tripod he’s positioned carefully on the rocky ground. Noctis vaguely remembered poking at his friend until Prompto finally relented and shoved his more personal possessions at Noctis to store in the armiger for their trip. Sure, it’s technically work for them and a political function, but it’s still a trip. Noctis wants his friends to have fun, too.

“The sun’s going to set soon,” Prompto says.

“Ah,” Noctis says. Prompto does love his sunsets.

He sits down on the ground and lets Prompto do his thing. This Haven is up high enough that they have a clear view of the horizon from here. The treetops are just high enough to cover the edge of the world where the sun will disappear to return home for the night. In the distance, Noctis can see the slow moving shapes of coeurls roaming the plains and birds flying across the vast expanse of the golden sky. Everything moves slower here, as if time is just a suggestion. It’s peaceful, so peaceful that Noctis can feel his entire body relaxing just sitting here and taking everything in.

They don’t have this kind of sunset back home. The Wall was always there, and even if he warped up high to the rooftops, it always felt too short. Too small. He let Prompto drag him around to watch them just the same, but now, Noctis finally understands why.

He hears the click of shutters and the low murmurs Prompto makes when he’s fussing over his photography. Noctis keeps his eyes on the horizon, drinking in the way the skies slowly shift shades with each heartbeat. The sky is burning, brilliant gold to an orange that sears itself into Noctis’ mind. 

“Really takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” Prompto says above him.

Noctis turns, tearing his gaze away from the sunset to see—

Prompto, standing beside him in royal Lucian black, dusty from long days on the road, fingers carefully wrapped around his camera. Prompto, golden hair reflecting the fading sunlight, freckled skin a canvas for the sunset. Prompto, drenched in radiant orange and yellows and pinks and all the colours of a world worth fighting for, a world worth living for.

“Yeah,” Noctis says.

Before them, the sun continues to set, and the rest of the world continues on. Noctis stares up at his golden boy, and breathes.

 


	7. rust red dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in-game, blood/injury mention, uhhhh temporary character death?
> 
> confession: i haven't played the game and probably never will, and i don't really know the game mechanics so don't @ me

There’s sweat in Noctis’ eyes. Or maybe it’s blood. Noctis doesn’t really have the time to make sure.

They’ve been stuck in the middle of nowhere for the past few days, struggling to finish this frustrating hunt. The flat, course land with the faded red dirt just stretches on and on for miles and miles. Noctis misses trees, and the shade that the trees provided. But now’s not the time to be complaining about things out of his control.

There are MTs to fight.

He dodges two of them, grabbing the first one’s arm and sending it crashing into the other. Spotting movement out the corner of his eye, Noctis warps over and takes out the MT sneaking up behind Ignis’ back. Then he’s throwing his dagger and warping back out to his position, barely acknowledging the harried thanks that Ignis says over his shoulder.

They were taken by surprise this time. A mistake. They were so focused on the hunt, and they’d finally managed to finish it, too, when Prompto spots the airship coming out of nowhere, and suddenly they were surrounded by MTs left and right. That was nothing new, except their stock of curatives are low and they were all tired after the hunt. Just fending them off is proving a small challenge at the moment.

Warp-striking another target, Noctis dodges to the side as Ignis prepares to throw one of his spells. He glances around. Gladio is over on the far side, hacking away at the highest concentration of MTs. Ignis is in the centre, daggers ablaze and holding his own. And Prompto—

Noctis doesn’t see him.

“Hey, has anyone seen Prompto?”

Gladio’s too busy to answer. Ignis spares him a glance. “I thought he was covering our backs from over there.”

Slamming his sword through a few MTs that have wandered too close, Noctis spins around. Metal reflecting sunlight, red dust floating from boots hitting the ground. He hasn’t heard the out-of-place but now familiar cheer of his friend ringing across the battlefield for a while now. Worry sinks like a stone in his gut.

He cuts down another few MTs as he makes his way to where he last saw his friend. Prompto is good at what he does. He might have less training than the others but Prompto’s not helpless. He’s smart and resourceful and he’ll definitely be okay. He has to be. Noctis needs him to be.

There. A glimpse of blond hair, that familiar black leather. Prompto is sprawled on the ground.

He isn’t moving.

Noctis launches himself forwards, jabbing his sword through the last few MTs in the way, and lands on his knees next to the prone form of his best friend.

“Prompto!”

Noctis barely registers the shattered pieces of an MT next to him. His eyes are on Prompto and his hands hover over him, heart pounding in his throat. Prompto is pale, paler than he should be, his guns lying uselessly a couple feet away. He’s breathing, shallowly and unevenly. 

“Prom,” Noctis says, voice shaking. “Sorry, dude, but I gotta, I gotta see—”

He turns Prompto over and immediately wishes he hadn’t. There’s an ugly gash down his chest, and his right arm isn’t right. There is so much blood, seeping through Prompto’s torn clothes and sinking into the rust red dirt, staining it dark. Bile rises up in Noctis’ throat.

Noctis doesn’t know how long he kneels there, frozen over his best friend, who is currently bleeding out and  _ dying _ . Too long, probably. Then, Ignis is there, gently nudging his bloody hands aside. Careful fingers check Prompto’s wounds in quick, precise movements. Only the tenseness along Ignis’ jawline gives away his worry.

“He’s lost too much blood,” Ignis murmurs. “Potions won’t work, it would be a waste. Prompto. Prompto, can you hear me?”

There’s no reply. Prompto’s head stays still even though that angle can’t be comfortable. His eyes remain closed.

Ignis curses. Behind them, Gladio is roaring, the sounds of battle still ongoing. But all Noctis can hear is the panic in his ears. All he can see is the dirt mixing in with the blood on Prompto’s skin.

“He’s not breathing,” Ignis says. “Noct, the Down—Noctis! I need you to focus. Prompto needs you to focus. Alright? Calm down. Look at me.” Noctis stares at him. Ignis reaches out and clasps his shoulder. They both ignore the red staining their fingers. 

“Noctis. I need you to use the Phoenix Down on Prompto. As soon as he is breathing again, get him back to the Regalia. I must go assist Gladio in finishing the rest of the MTs off. Do you understand?”

Noctis doesn’t trust himself to speak. He nods, just barely. Ignis’ hand on his shoulder tightens.

“We will have your back. Just go. Don’t look back, you hear?” Ignis pulls away and turns back towards the battlefield. “Noctis. Prompto will be alright.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Noctis to stare at his dying best friend. Prompto’s freckles stand out starkly against his now bleach-white skin, blue veins standing out. Clumsy fingers fumbling, Noctis digs through the armiger to find that Phoenix Down. He nearly drops it in his hurry. He takes hold of Prompto’s freezing fingers and wraps them around the feather as best he can. His own hands are trembling too violently.

“Please,” he whispers. There’s dirt and sweat in his eyes. He hates the feeling of his best friend’s blood on his hands. All he knows is red. All he feels is fear.

Then, a shuddering gasp—a sudden flare—

Prompto’s eyes snap open for just a moment.

He’s out like a light again in the next second, but he’s breathing again. He’s  _ alive.  _ Noctis allows himself a sob. Prompto doesn’t respond when Noctis tries to move him, but there is warmth flooding back into him, the remnants of the Phoenix Down’s flaming embrace still lingering throughout his body. Noctis climbs to his feet, his best friend slung over his shoulders, and runs.

The sharp coppery tang of blood follows them. He leaves a trail of red dust as he dodges around the carnage towards the car. His heart is still heavy with fear—at the thought of losing Prompto, at the thought that he isn’t enough to save his best friend—but Prompto’s weight is a comforting thing against his back. Prompto is breathing. Prompto is alive.

Noctis will do anything to keep him that way for as long as he lives.


	8. brown iodine stains on skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brotherhood era
> 
> [here](http://puddingcatbae.tumblr.com/post/173215088680/loud-yelling-if-u-get-a-chance-can-u-do-something) is another ficlet i wrote with similar scene/mood

“Ow,” Prompto hisses, pulling away slightly.

“Sorry,” Noctis says. He holds on tight to the cotton swab. “But you gotta stop moving.”

“Okay, okay.”

The bathroom is silent as Noctis does his best to patch Prompto up and Prompto does his best to ignore the sting of iodine against his skin.

“You need to stop getting in fights for me,” Noctis says eventually.

“Sorry, dude, but it’s my duty as your best friend to fight for your honour.”

“But it’s my right as your best friend to be worried about you.”

Prompto looks down, a guilty expression on his face. Noctis feels the tiniest bit of regret at being the cause of that. He swipes at another cut on Prompto’s arm.

“I told you that you could come to me if anyone was bothering you, right?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother, Prom—”

“That’s nice, buddy, but you’re the prince—”

“That doesn’t matter—”

“It matters to me!”

Noctis flinches at that, hurt flashing across his face before he manages to school it back to a neutral expression, just like he was taught to do. He looks down, tilting his head so his bangs obscure his face from Prompto.

A frustrated sigh. Prompto shifts, fidgeting with the wristband on his right wrist. “You know I don’t mean that—in that way. I’m friends with you because you’re Noct, not Prince Noctis. But, but look at me. I don’t look Lucian, I’m dumb, and I’m nowhere near a noble. I’m not the company someone like you are supposed to keep.”

Noctis bites his lip to yelling. He hates the absolute absence of humour in his friend’s voice, he hates the fact that Prompto is right. He’s never hated being who he is more. 

“—but none of that is your fault, Noct,” Prompto is saying. He’s lightly tracing over one of his bandaged cuts. He looks sad, but not defeated. “I wish everyone could just see you the way I do, I wish they knew how important being friends with you is to me—but all they see is a prince wasting time with an outsider, and that sucks. And it’s a no brainer that I’m an easier target than you, Noct.”

“Prompto—”

“But I can handle it! I’m tougher than I look, Noct, you know that. And I’m used to it, anyway.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Noctis says quietly.

Prompto closes his mouth. He meets Noctis’ eyes, and for a moment, they just gazed at each other, too many things they’ve never talked about and don’t really know how to address in between them. 

Noctis looks back down. He smoothes out the bandage patch gently. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

There are tiny little brown stains on his fingers, a few spots here and there scattered between Prompto’s freckles. Noctis reaches out and takes hold of Prompto’s hand.

“I just,” he says softly, “don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“... I know.”

Noctis bows his head, tightening his grip on Prompto’s fingers. “You’re... really precious to me, you know that?”

Prompto squeezes his hand back. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You, too, Noct.”

He wants to say more. He should, probably. Their friendship is built on mutual agreement and a shared loneliness, a need for company that sees past their skin and doesn’t mind leaving behind their backgrounds. Noctis likes that. He likes that he doesn’t need to pretend to be more than he is in front of Prompto. He likes that Prompto trusts him enough to do the same.

But that leaves so much unsaid between them. He wants to protect Prompto, but Prompto doesn’t really need his protection. All Noctis knows is that he doesn’t ever want to lose Prompto.

“Hey,” Prompto says finally. “We should probably wash off this stuff.”

Noctis nods. He holds onto Prompto’s hand for a moment longer than necessary. If Prompto notices, he doesn’t say a word.


	9. someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in-game, post operation: rescue prompto  
> (in other words, the missing scene that we like to tear apart and rip ourselves a new one, as if "ever at your side" doesn't hurt enough)
> 
> this one was difficult because i have many thoughts about what counts as "bad parts of you" and the thing is, we all have flaws. it's okay to not like everything about a person. learning to accept them as they are (and yourself as you are) and continue to grow from that, together, is what love is, isn't it?

The abandoned dormitory they’ve barricaded themselves in for the time being is cold and uncomfortable. Gladio settles into the bunk closest to the door, sitting on it sideways so he can keep an eye on the entrance and on everyone else. Ignis hovers a few bunks closer, but still far enough away to provide an illusion of privacy. 

Prompto curls up on the hard surface on a bunk and doesn’t look at anyone.

Noctis clenches his fists at his sides, and then lets it go. 

“Prom,” he says quietly. “You sure you don’t need another potion?”

All he receives in response is a shake of the head.

Carefully, Noctis sits down on the bunk in front of Prompto. He leaves enough space between them so he’s not touching his friend without permission. Prompto keeps his gaze locked on his hands. He’s not trembling anymore, but his face has become all blank, devoid of expression, exhausted and so pale, so unlike the Prompto they know. It’s terrifying. It breaks Noctis’ heart.

“Hey,” he says. “I know this isn’t the best time, but I don’t really know—I’m afraid—I’m afraid we might not have time later, and that sucks, I—” He takes a breath. “Prompto. I’m sorry.”

“... For what?”

“For—”  _ Pushing you off that damn train. Watching you fall. Not being smart enough to see through that bastard’s tricks. Taking so long to find you again. Allowing you to get hurt for me, over and over and over again.  _ “For everything,” Noctis whispers.

Prompto shakes his head slowly. “It’s not your f—”

“It is.”

“Noct.”

“It is,” Noctis insists. He digs his fingers into his thighs. He doesn’t look at Prompto. “Prom, you... You wanted to go to university and study photography, didn’t you? But instead, I asked you to be my Crownsguard. So you did. And then I asked you to come with me on this stupid fucking  _ cursed _ road trip and you did. I asked you to risk your safety, I asked you to sacrifice your life for me, and you did. Of course you did. I know you’re loyal to a fault and you would do anything if I asked you to, and I  _ still asked you to. _ ”

“Noct...”

“So it is my fault. I got you into this mess. I almost  _ killed _ you, Prompto.”

It’s silent in the dorm. Gladio and Ignis are quiet, barely breathing, but they don’t interrupt. Prompto is looking up now, but the hollowness on his face is more prominent than ever. Noctis is certain that face will haunt him until the day he dies.

“I’m selfish,” Noctis says. “I should know better, I  _ do  _ know better, but I can’t make myself let things go. You’re not a part of this—all of this royal line of Lucis and Astrals’ chosen fates—You’re my friend, you’re not supposed to be involved in all of this, but I still dragged you into this mess. All because I’m too selfish and stubborn to let you go.”

Prompto doesn’t say anything. Noctis sucks in a shaky breath. His eyes are stinging, his hands shaking.

“I knew it was unfair,” Noctis says, “asking you to come with me even though I’m supposed to be marrying someone else. I knew it was a terrible thing to do to you, but I’m too  _ weak _ , I need you by my side even if it hurts—I swore I wouldn’t let you get hurt but instead, I—I  _ hurt _ you, and you should hate me by now, everything that’s happened to you is because of me, but I—” Noctis meets Prompto’s eyes even as his own fills with tears. “—Even now, I’m still pathetic enough to ask you to stay by my side.”

The expression on Prompto’s face makes all of Noctis ache. The bruises and cuts littered across those familiar freckles are stark reminders of Noctis’ failures. The weary downward tilt to Prompto’s face is wrong, the haunted sadness carved into his best friend’s face all wrong. 

But there is still a tenderness in Prompto’s eyes as he gazes back at Noctis. There is still that soft warmth that Noctis has come to associate with the feeling of  _ safety _ , of  _ home.  _

Noctis wants to make sure that warmth never, ever, ever fades.

“You’re not,” Prompto says. He uncurls a little from his hunched position. He reaches out towards Noctis, and Noctis, swallowing hard, raises his hand to meet him halfway. “You’re not pathetic,” Prompto continues. His voice is raspy and cracked, but it settles something in Noctis’ chest all the same. “You’re not weak, or worthless, or horrible—you’re Noct. My best friend. And I know you would never hurt me willingly. That wasn’t—It will never be your fault, Noct. I could never hate you.”

“You should,” Noctis whispers.

Prompto shakes his head. His grip on Noctis’ hand tightens. “I would  follow you anywhere, Noct. Crownsguard training couldn’t stop me, the Astrals couldn’t stop me, Ar-Ar—that  _ monster _ couldn’t stop me—not even you, Noct. I’m here with you whether you want me or not.”

“I want you. I always want you.”

The smile on Prompto’s face isn’t anywhere near his usual brightness. But it’s a smile. Noctis is speechless at the relief that floods through his entire being. 

“Good,” Prompto murmurs, tugging on Noctis’ hand until he moves closer. “Because it’s the same for me.”

They’re both crying. The rest of the dorm is quiet, the eerie echoes of clanking metal slipping in through the barred door. Prompto is warm against Noctis’ palm. Real. Alive. Noctis holds onto Prompto’s hand and cries for all he’s lost and will continue to lose. He cries for everything he could never keep, and prays to any Astral that may be listening, that may spare even just a little mercy on him—that this boy in his arms be the only exception. That Prompto be the only thing he manages to grasp in his hands and not be stolen from him.

Noctis closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Prompto’s. They stay like that for a long time, minutes and hours and eternities never long enough. Noctis stays close, counting the steady ins and outs of his best friend’s breaths, and tries to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also wrote another ficlet inspired by the same prompt [here](http://puddingcatbae.tumblr.com/post/172399159810/promptis-and-56)  
> bonus: there's a line in here that's a shoutout to [one of my other promptis fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972430)
> 
> also, on a more personal note - you may know me as "milktea," but i'm currently going by "bean" now!! thank you for understanding, and don't feel bad if you get them mixed up (:


	10. finding old photographs you'd forgotten about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-game, a few years after new insomnia is up and running

It’s rare that he has a day off. It’s even more rare that Prompto isn’t here to keep him company. He’s out checking up on Talcott and his organization of Hunters-turned-Salvagers. He should be back soon, but for the time being, Noctis is stuck in the quiet apartment, trying to find something to do.

His phone beeps at him. Noctis sighs. With great effort, he climbs out of bed and plugs in the charging cord. Then he spins around in the empty bedroom and wonders what he should do now.

There’s a load of laundry waiting to be done. He could get started on an early dinner. Or maybe he finally sit down and play some of that old game Gladio salvaged from the junkyard sale the city holds every few weeks. 

Instead, Noctis finds himself wandering through the apartment. Ignis swung by with extra grocery rations the day before, and Gladio brought his kid over for an afternoon. The kitchen is stocked, the living room kind of messy. Noctis thinks about going back to his bed and taking a sweet nap. Then he thinks about Prompto’s face when he comes home to a clean apartment.

The King of New Insomnia rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work.

The loose papers are shuffled into neat stacks. The coasters spread out to their usual positions, one by the armchair side, one closer to the sofa. The controllers—remote for the television, one for the audio system, the gaming controllers that have somehow tangled themselves together, Noctis can’t remember why they own so many considering many of these technologies are only halfway to working after being salvaged and pieced back together by Prompto’s fiddling hands—are lined up on the table. And the books, back to the shelves they go.

He’s just making room for the last book when something falls out from between the covers. It flutters to the ground before he can catch it. Shoving the books back against the shelf, Noctis bends down to inspect the paper.

It’s a photograph.

Photographs aren’t an uncommon thing in this apartment, not in any space that Prompto frequents. Even now, a few years after the sun returned and more than a decade after Prompto found and lost and rediscovered his love for photography, Noctis is still in awe of every single picture Prompto has ever taken. The old camera, the one that Noctis gifted him, doesn’t work anymore. Dust and age does that. It sits in a box somewhere in their storage room, too much sentimentality and nostalgia attached to be thrown away. It was surprisingly easy to find another one. Noctis has to poke and prod at Prompto before he finally agreed that being able to take pictures again would help, and together they’d asked around and searched through the ruins of what Lucis used to be for spare parts and people with the skills to repair cameras.

The look on Prompto’s face when he pressed the shutter years and years after he put his camera down for what he thought was the last time—Noctis will never forget it.

They keep the albums in the cabinet under the television. Various framed photographs are placed around the living area. Individual photographs, the best ones, the favourites, are strung up along the bedroom wall. Prompto changes them occasionally, but Noctis has become used to falling asleep staring at up at the familiar faces of their friends and a few beautiful shots of places they call home. Rarely, though, does Noctis see photographs of Prompto himself. He doesn’t take selfies like he used to. He doesn’t run when Noctis aims the camera his way, but Prompto still prefers to be the one behind the lens.

In that sense, this photograph is a treasure. It’s Prompto, a decade younger, bright and brilliant and breathtakingly beautiful. He’s caught mid-laughter, one hand raised as if to grab the camera away, eyes crinkled and mouth stretched wide. Wild blond strands frame his face, some sort of sunset playing a mediocre backdrop to his radiance. Even in the dimness and blurriness, Prompto is vibrant, vivid, positively glowing. Even in a simple two-dimensional picture, Prompto is a miracle and a wonder all at once.

And suddenly, Noctis is twenty all over again, miles away from here, standing on top of a Haven with his friends. Lost in the middle of nowhere and yet exactly where he needs to be. They’re young and restless and barely understanding the true weight of the world on their shoulders, bold and stupid and ready to take on the world before them with all the reckless abandon they can pool between them. They’re not sure where to go from here, but they have each other. They have each other. There’s nothing they can’t defeat if they’re together.

He hasn’t seen Prompto laugh like this in so, so long.

“Noct?”

Startled, Noctis drops the picture. It flutters, landing right at Prompto’s feet.

“You’re home,” says Noctis.

“Yeah.” Prompto bends down and picks up the photograph. He blinks. “Oh. I’d forgotten about this.”

“I didn’t know you printed that one out.”

Prompto shrugs. “It might have gotten mixed in with my other files.”

“I like it, though.”

Prompto looks down at the photo. “Me, too,” he says quietly.

Stepping closer, Noctis reaches out and hooks his fingers into Prompto’s sleeve. “Hey,” he says, “let’s go on a trip again. To the sea, to the mountains, to see the snow. Anywhere you want to go.”

“But Noct—you’re the King—”

“Which doesn’t mean anything anymore. Insomnia will be fine without me for a few weeks.” Noctis ducks his head to catch Prompto’s eyes. “Let’s go somewhere, just the two of us? You can take all the photographs you want. I want to spend time with you away from all of this. We deserve that much, right? I want to go on the road trip we were supposed to have. I want to take my time with you.”

Prompto leans into his touch, slipping his arms around Noctis’ waist. “Will you help me send silly selfies to Gladio?”

“‘Course. We can buy all the weirdest ingredients to send back to Specs.”

The smile that Prompto presents him is just an echo of the one in the photo, but it lights up Noctis’ sky just the same.

“I can’t wait,” Prompto says.


	11. the moment when reality starts to make sense again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ptsd is in full force for this one; nightmares/panic attacks/vague mindfuckery

Prompto wakes up gasping for air and not quite succeeding. He’s tangled up in thick blankets, sweat cold and sticky against his skin, and it’s dark, so dark, where is he, he’s all alone, so alone—

He falls onto the floor in the confusion. His legs are still trapped, and his elbows hurt from hitting the ground. It’s too dark. He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

It’s dark night again. Endless, haunting dark, the heavy kind that feels alive in all the wrong ways. The kind of dark that breathes down his neck and slithers down his spine until it reaches into the very core of Prompto and every part of him is screaming,  _ run, run, run _ . Prompto’s always had a rabbit heart, a runner thrumming through his bloodstream, but this everlasting dark has its claws digging right into the trembling flesh of his heart.

He can’t breathe.

A light comes on, flooding the room with artificial brightness. Prompto flinches back, knocking against something hard enough to bruise. He barely notices. There’s a figure approaching him, hands held up, a voice calling his name from far away. 

“Prompto,” he hears, and it’s the most terrible thing.

It sounds like Noct, is the thing, and Prompto can’t take it. Noctis is gone. He’s been gone, and Prompto has made peace with it. He has. He has. He’s alone out here, in the blurry dark, he’s alone again. He’s all alone with only demons for company, and half of them are his own.

No one is coming to save him.

“Prompto,” the nightmare calls again, and Prompto lashes out.

“Don’t,” he hisses, “you won’t fool me again.”

There’s silence, but Prompto doesn’t trust it. He can’t trust anything, anymore. Not since endless hallways and sterile cages and red lights and sharp sharp sharp and bound wrists and a smile that isn’t really a smile but more of an omen and the taste of metal all-consuming. 

“Don’t,” he pleads into the uneasy quiet. “Leave me alone.”

A pause. Then the figure comes closer, crouching before him, and Prompto freezes. His chest is still, his lungs too tight. It’s fear, his brain is telling him. Overwhelming, suffocating—he’s starting to slide.

“Hey,” he hears, and the voice is so calm and familiar, it hurts. “Prompto. Please. Look at me.”

“No,” he snarls. Sound barely makes it past his lips. He tastes blood. 

“Prompto. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise.”

He shakes his head. There’s a slight sting on his arm, and he takes a moment too long to register his own nails digging through skin. He’s shaking, shaking apart. The entire world narrows to the shadow in front of him. He can’t remember if he’s still breathing. His vision flickers, wavers, focuses.

It looks like Noct, is the thing. It looks so much like Noct that Prompto  _ aches. _

“No,” he whispers. He should turn away, but he’s always been stupidly weak. So, so weak. “No. You’re not real.”

His best friend’s face tightens in a pained expression before smoothing out. Cruel. If Prompto didn’t know better, he’d think this was the real thing. Noctis’ practised poker face is a very unique thing, and Prompto has made it his business to memorize every face of Noct’s. Because someone had to. Someone had to collect the pieces of this boy shrouded in tragedy because Noct deserved better. He always did. 

“Listen,” the thing with Noct’s face says with Noct’s mouth, with Noct’s voice, “Prompto. You are safe, in your apartment, that you share with me. The years of darkness has lifted, the Crystal released me, I came back, and we brought the dawn back together. We defeated Ardyn and the Astrals are no more. I’m alive, Prompto. I’m real. I promise. I  _ came back. _ ”

The words echo in his head. Midnight blue eyes don’t leave his, and Prompto holds onto that steady gaze, breathless, weightless. 

_ I’m alive _ , he says.  _ I’m real.  _ You’re _ real. _

Slowly, Prompto’s vision expands from those familiar eyes. He takes in the dimly lit bedroom, the king-sized bed with a ridiculous amount of pillows, the photographs lining the walls. It’s not a decrepit shack abandoned out in the middle of nowhere dark. It’s a bedroom, it’s  _ their  _ bedroom. It’s safe. It’s home.

Noctis is sitting before him, an arm’s distance away, carefully not touching him. He lets Prompto look his fill, eyes never leaving Prompto’s face. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You back with me, buddy?”

Prompto stares. “Noct,” he croaks.

“I’m here,” is his answer.

With minimal fanfare, like the softest rubber band snapping back into place, watercolour fading back into focus, Prompto takes a deep breath. Then another. He reaches out a shaking hand. Noctis catches it, holds on.

“You came back,” Prompto whispers.

Noctis squeezes his fingers. The heat of his palm is searing. Grounding. 

“I’m here,” Noctis repeats.

Prompto doesn’t close his eyes again. He clings onto Noctis, and breathes.


	12. the relief of fatalistic recklessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brotherhood era; no warnings. i missed these kids a lot

 

“We’re going to die,” Prompto says, holding onto the passenger door handle for dear life.

“We’re not going to die,” Noctis says.

“Okay,” says Prompto. “We’re going to get caught, get lectured to heck and back, and  _ then  _ we’re going to die!”

Noctis snorts. “Calm down, drama queen.”

Prompto opens his mouth to retort, except Noctis yanks on the wheel just then and he’s sent slamming into the centre console. A shriek rips out of Prompto’s throat. Noctis laughs, a little too gleefully.

“I’m going to sue you for all these bruises on my hip,” Prompto says.

“I don’t know, seems a little hard to explain.”

Prompto smacks him in the arm. Noctis just laughs. The night flies by them, quiet streets lit up in bright lights that never rest. Ignis’ car is top quality but favours safety over speed. Still, it’s fast enough for a midnight getaway.

They’ve left Upper Insomnia behind by now. The road is less smooth and filled with more bumps, but Noctis continues onwards. He has a vague idea of a destination, but mostly, he’s aiming for  _ away. _ With Prompto in the passenger seat, he doesn’t exactly mind getting a bit lost. 

“I’ve never been out this late,” Prompto says. He’s staring out the window at the beams of the streetlights as they flash by. The muted yellows and oranges cast his face in a soft glow. Noctis has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road, because while he wanted to throw caution to the wind and indulge in his impulses for just one night, he didn’t actually want to die tonight. Not when there’s a beautiful boy sitting beside him. Not when he hasn’t found the courage to ask this boy to be his just yet.

“Me neither.”

“Guess it’s our secret adventure, huh.” The smile that Prompto gives him is nothing short of brilliant. 

He parks the car hazardously in an empty parking lot on top of a hill. There’s an old temple up here, overlooking part of the city. It’s abandoned but they never tore it down. Noctis likes the quiet. You still can’t see the stars up here—the Wall is too strong for that—but you can almost imagine them. 

The two of them trek up the path towards the ancient building. The doors are still standing, but some of the windows are cracked and broken. They climb in through one of the broken windows with practised ease. Dust and old debris cover the floor inside. The pews are still neatly lined up, but the altar is cracked and worn from age and vandalism. They don’t linger in the main cathedral hall, instead taking the steps off to the side up to the second floor. There’s a small alcove where they can climb out onto the roof. 

Noctis summons a dagger and flips it in his hand. He reaches out with his other hand for his best friend. Prompto grips it tightly, allowing Noctis to pull him close until they’re pressed flush against each other. Noctis throws the dagger, and together they warp up the few meters onto the bell tower.

It’s high up. Noctis has no fear of heights—rather, he has a love for it, born out of the magic running through his veins and a lifetime of being told to remain on the land he will one day rule. Prompto’s not afraid of heights either, though he much prefers having both feet on solid ground because running is a force of habit by now. But Noctis promised to catch him if he fell, and Prompto promised to never leave him alone.

Noctis never anticipated that he would be the one doing the falling.

“Look at that,” Prompto breathes. Noctis makes sure he is standing securely before following Prompto’s gaze out into the distance.

The skyscrapers and the Citadel almost seem small from this distance. The lights twinkle like makeshift stars, shifting colours and winking lazily. Down there, in between the winding streets, everything feels larger than life, chaotic, all at once, overwhelming. But here, up high and removed from everything, with only the warmth of his best friend beside him, everything feels easier to swallow. Noctis can breathe. 

He laughs. He throws his head back, closes his eyes, and laughs. He feels Prompto jolt in surprise, but Prompto doesn’t say anything. Noctis laughs until he’s bent over, struggling to catch his breath, barely balanced on the edge.

“Be careful,” Prompto says.

Noctis responds by leaning his weight against him, making Prompto clutch at the edge of the wall in panic. “Calm down,” Noctis says. “Have I ever let you fall?”

“No.”

“And I never will.”

“I know.” Prompto hooks his fingers into Noctis’ shirt. “Why did you want to come here tonight?”

Noctis closes his eyes. He turns his face into Prompto’s neck and breathes in. He smells like the soap in Noct’s bathroom from the shower he took before they bundled up in the car. He smells a little like the vanilla lotion that Prompto hoards and applies nightly like a ritual. He smells like home.

“I just wanted to escape for awhile,” Noctis says quietly. The honesty in his voice is resounding. “To be anonymous, to throw out all the rules and propriety for just one night, to be reckless like the dumb teenager I am and just. Be someone else. Be nothing. Be—”

“Free?”

Noctis pulls back enough to catch Prompto’s eyes. They’re soft as he gazes at Noctis, and Noctis kind of wants to drown in them forever. “You get it,” he whispers.

Prompto reaches up and brushes the bangs out of Noctis’ eyes. The gesture is almost too tender. “Thank you,” says Prompto. “For allowing me to be part of tonight.”

“It was never a question.”

Nighttime Insomnia is a sight to behold. Laid out before them like this, a map of manmade stars and wordless hopes and dreams, it’s a beautiful thing. But Noctis pays it no mind at all. Why would he, when he has something much better and mesmerizing sitting pressed up against him?

He shouldn’t. He should pull away now, laugh a little, slam up that firm wall of friendship that they’ve been chipping away at for a while now. That’s what the little voice in his head that sounds like Ignis is saying he should do. That’s what he’s been doing, been trying to do.

But tonight’s a night about setting down the heavy, invisible crown on his head. Tonight’s a night about letting go and letting loose, and if Noctis can have just one night to be perfectly honest with himself—not the child playing at being prince, but the boy behind the glass windows of a highrise castle—Noctis knows what he wants to do.

His mind made up, Noctis takes a breath. Something warm and light bubbles up within his chest, stealing his breath away and filling him with an almost dizzying sensation. There are no room for regrets, for second guesses. Only the tug of his gut, the squeeze of his heart.

“Prompto,” he says. “Can I kiss you?”

Prompto’s eyes widen. For a moment, they are suspended, so many feet off the ground, just the two of them in the whole of Eos, the entire universe holding its breath for them. Then Prompto nods. Leans forwards. Waiting.

They kiss. They kiss, and it feels like point-warping for the first time, throwing his dagger across the room and adjusting to the weird sensation of gravity falling from his stomach. They kiss, and it feels like moving out of the Citadel, stepping out from under his father’s arms and keeping his shoulders straight and head up. They kiss, and it feels like skipping class to fool around in the arcade, familiar laughter ringing in his ears and finally feeling comfortable in his own skin. They kiss, and it feels like free-falling and taking off onto an empty road stretching on for miles and miles into the horizon.

Noctis closes his eyes, and lets go.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: if you think that this entire scene and location has a familiar feel, you're probably right. i've been writing this same chapter across pretty much all of my ffxv fics. listen, the nighttime citylights/up high aesthetic belongs to promptis, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> i've realized i don't really know how to fucking tag, so if you think there is anything that needs to be added or ratings or whatever, pls let me know.
> 
> as always, you can find me absolutely emo on main for these boys @puddingcatbae on tumblr/twitter


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